


Circumference

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Awkward Crush, Butlers, Childhood Sweethearts, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gilbert feels almost like the graceful servant he is supposed to be, that Oz deserves, except that he’s still flushed hot across his cheeks and Oz is still giggling from the couch." Gilbert serves Oz tea and Oz is more cunning than capricious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circumference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiny_Pichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/gifts).



Gilbert always dreads this part of the afternoon.

It’s a silly thing, he supposes, to be so trapped by a door. It’s just a door, one that causes him no problems at all other times of the day. But with his hands occupied supporting the weight of the tea tray he can’t reach out to pull the handle, and even if he sets the tray down and then pushes it open he can’t pick the tray back up in time to make it through the open door. It would be easier, he’s sure, if he were older, stronger or faster or even just taller, tall enough to hold the door open with his foot while he recovers the tray. As it is it’s a race every day, and not one that he always succeeds at winning, and he’s not feeling particularly optimistic this afternoon.

He almost makes it. The door stays wide for several long seconds, enough that Gilbert thinks maybe it will stay that way, is starting to relax as he collects the tray set down alongside the entrance. But then it starts to slide forward, swinging itself shut the more rapidly as if to make up for its delay in beginning, and in the end Gilbert has to throw himself forward to keep from getting shut in the weight of it, barely clearing his heel of the frame before the heavy wood slams shut with a  _bang_  Gilbert can feel jar all through his body.

“It almost caught you that time!” Oz laughs from where he’s sprawled on the couch. Gilbert is too busy trying to balance the tea tray from an almost-crash to look up and see the way Oz is grinning at him, but he can hear the amusement in the other’s voice, can more than imagine the teasing sparkle in his eyes. “I thought you were done for, Gil.”

“Your tea almost was.” Gilbert steadies the tray, centers his balance, and when he moves forward across the floor it’s smoothly, his shoulders back and his arms braced as if his awkward rush into the room never happened at all. He feels almost like the graceful servant he is supposed to be, that Oz deserves, except that he’s still flushed hot across his cheeks and Oz is still giggling from the couch.

“That’s okay,” Oz declares as Gilbert kneels to set the tray against the table and slide the weight of it forward over the surface. “Teatime is always fun even if I don’t get to drink any at all. You’re always so funny when you come in the door.”

“I’m glad you’re amused,” Gilbert sighs as he lifts the weight of the full teapot off the tray and sets it on the table. “Would you like sugar?”

“Yes,” Oz says without moving to sit up off the couch. He’s lying on his stomach, one arm folded under his head and the other hanging off the edge to skim the cover of the book he dropped to the floor upon Gilbert’s entrance. His eyes are bright in the golden light filling the room; they look like jewels, brighter and clearer than any true gemstones Gilbert has ever seen. “Two spoonfuls.”

Gilbert grimaces -- he doesn’t like sugar in his tea at all, much less the double spoonful that will turn the liquid syrupy-sweet -- but he obeys without voicing protest, heaping the crystals into a pile at the bottom of Oz’s teacup. The tea dissolves the sugar as quickly as it hits it, swirling the white into a haze in the rich color of the liquid; by the time Gilbert has set the teapot down and reached for the spoon to stir what remains into the tea, the sugar is all but dissolved already. It only takes a few sweeps of the spoon for the grate of texture at the bottom of the cup to vanish so Gilbert can pull the spoon out and set it at the side of the saucer.

“Thank you,” Oz says as he swings himself to upright, drawling the words into something so off-hand there’s hardly any gratitude left to them. When he reaches for the handle of the teacup his knuckles brush Gilbert’s wrist, brand a breath of sunlight against the other’s skin before Oz lifts the weight of the cup up and away. Gilbert’s attention arcs with the edge of the cup, follows the motion of it as Oz brings it to his lips; he can see the tiny sip of the hot liquid Oz takes, can watch the way the other’s throat work as he swallows the taste. Oz’s collar shifts with the movement, the dark of his tie catching at the action; and then he reaches out to set the cup back in the saucer, moving so fast Gilbert is still blinking distraction from his eyes as Oz pushes the cup across the table towards him.

“Too sweet,” he says, as unselfconscious in this declaration as if he hadn’t just asked for a double serving of sugar. “You have that cup.”

“What?” Gilbert asks, but Oz is already drawing the other cup towards himself, reaching for the teapot to splash tea into the cup before Gilbert can think to reach out and do it for him. A spoonful of sugar follows, the motion of Oz’s hand as he stirs it in rushed and careless; it makes Gilbert flinch even more than the prospect of drinking the cup of oversweet tea in front of him does. “But you just--”

“I think just one spoonful is better,” Oz says without looking up at Gilbert. When he brings the second cup to his lips it’s with a flourish, the gesture of someone certain in their success before they’ve bothered to verify, and he’s humming satisfaction before he even tastes the liquid. “Much better.”

“Why didn’t you just ask for one in the first place?” Gilbert sighs, reaching for his own cup without bothering to wait for the conclusion to a fight he already knows he’ll lose. “You could have always added more later.”

“It’s fine,” Oz says, waving away Gilbert’s protests with an airy wave of his fingers. “Now you can drink it instead.”

Gilbert sighs, protest and surrender at once on his tongue, and lifts the teacup to his lips. It’s too sweet as soon as it touches his mouth, the sugar overpowering the flavor of the tea underneath until it’s more like drinking candy than a cup of what Gilbert knows to be exquisite tea.

“Is it good?” Oz asks almost before Gilbert’s swallowed, while he’s still cringing from the taste on his tongue.

“Ah,” Gilbert says, trying to compose his expression to something other than complete distaste. “It’s too sweet.”

“Wasn’t I right?” Oz says, purring the words like they’re some kind of a victory instead of evidence of his own caprice. He reaches out to take Gilbert’s cup and set it back in its saucer for him. “I knew it was too much.”

“Then why did you ask for it?” Gilbert protests, aware that he’s whining and not able to stop the catch in his voice.

Oz laughs, the sound bright and clear like a bell, like sunshine breaking from behind clouds. “That’s easy,” he says. “I did it so I’d have an excuse to do this.” And it’s then that he leans over the table and presses his mouth to Gilbert’s.

Gilbert doesn’t think to shut his eyes. He doesn’t move at all. He just goes still, frozen to immobility by the fit of Oz’s mouth against his, by the heat of the other’s lips caught at his own as if they were meant to be there. Oz tastes like tea, the combined flavor of his own cup and what lingers of Gilbert’s enough to override the stick of the sugar, and Gilbert’s head is spinning, his thoughts going frantic and hazy as he stays still and unmoving and lets Oz kiss him.

It lasts for minutes, it lasts for a heartbeat, an eternity that’s over too quickly for Gilbert to comprehend until it’s done. Oz pulls away, his tongue darting out to catch at his lower lip, and Gilbert’s stomach swoops into freefall as Oz hums. “Mm. You taste like sugar, Gil.”

“Wh,” Gilbert starts, but his voice fails him, dies to shock before he can manage even the first of the infinity of questions that rise up his throat. “I.”

“It’s better when I’m not drinking it,” Oz volunteers, reaching for his cup of tea again. His hand is very nearly steady; if it weren’t for the tremor across the surface of the liquid to give him away, Gilbert wouldn’t know he was shaking at all. “It tastes great on your mouth.”

“Oh,” Gilbert says, hearing his voice shake far worse than Oz’s hand on his teacup. “Really.”

“Mmhm.” Oz lifts his cup to his lips, swallows a mouthful of liquid; it’s too much, it must be scalding hot, but he doesn’t flinch, just reaches out to set his cup back down against the saucer. “I like it.”

“Oh,” Gilbert says again. He looks away from the top of Oz’s gold head, down to the weight of the teacup in front of him so he can stare into the dark of the liquid. He can see himself reflected in the surface, can see the very edge of Oz’s hair; if he tips his head he can fit them both into the circular frame of the edge, can see the space between them narrowed to the gap of a few inches inside the span of ceramic.

“Me too,” he says down into the surface of the teacup, and reaches for the handle for another sip.

He can see Oz’s smile in the reflection.


End file.
